Spring – from my garden to you with love.

Pers 3


Pienk rose



Avon, pretty please change my life.

If I get that neutral-tone eyeshadow palette with the 8 different neutral colours: The messy kitchen will become gleaming fresh with hardwood floors(of course neither the refrigerator nor the washing machine will ever leak again then) and new tiles, the beds wil straighten themselves, the paint in the livingroom will chip off the wall to reveal the beautiful red brick underneath – magically free of damp – and four neat holes will be ready for four poles ready to be concreted in where I want to put up a screen so that opportunistic thieves stop stealing our hosepipes and washing pegs. No wait. Make that one hole. I’ve already half-dug three. Oh wait, why not have the screen up already? Scrap that, why not have a country where everybody has enough to eat so that people don’t feel the need for stealing other people’s hosepipes or washing pegs or murdering them in their beds for that matter. Still, the screen will look nice.

While we’ve seemingly landed at home-improvements: The old bench we discovered behind the garage will be restored and sitting proudly at one end of that rectangular garden that is still in process but that won’t be in process much longer. Provided I get my Supershock Avon mascara in brown-black.

My three kids will be with me all home-birthed and organically fed. No need to still send the guy putting a gravestone on Loren’s grave an e-mail confirming the wording and order. I will know nothing of oxygen saturation, will not be able to distinguish between hypertonic and hypotonic and I will still be under the mistaken impression that all human beings are seen as equal the moment they enter a doctor’s room. Not that we would ever need a hospital (or a doctor). Stinky collecting places for germ colonies that they are.

Of course the kids will be home-schooled, their bedroom shelves will be put up and their toys will be sorted out. Discipline would be a non-issue as they would want to be well-behaved. Somebody will have already removed the disgusting carpet in the livingroom and the slate tiles will be there in all of their multicolour gloriousness. No, make that a hardwood floor too. Throughout the house. Of course I will have the resolve to prohibit the kids from eating anywhere but the kitchen so that the hardwood floors don’t go the way of that livingroom carpet. Oh wait, that won’t work… there’s hardwood floors in the kitchen too. Maybe the kids would want to eat outside? It stands to reason that the kid’s bedroom blinds I’ve been working on for the past six months will be finished and that my sewing machine will have had that service it hasn’t had since 2005. The kids would actually sleep in their bedroom, by the way.

The russet blush. Now that could possibly be enough to enable me to finish the mosaic of a tree without people congratulating me on my lovely mosaic of a cat. (The story of my artistic life).

Oh yes and the stone-clad flower bed outside the bedrooms that the cats use as a toilet will be concreted and decorated with pebbles so that the bedrooms don’t stink. Not that I blame the cats. I’d use the closest toilet too. The swimming pool will be emptied and patched where it is leaking and the rusty fence repaired and freshly painted.

I will lose the 3 kg I’ve put on through the winter and my legs will be brown, hairless and bump-free. My higher-than-average blood pressure will lower because I will have developed selective blindness and deafness towards assholes. (There’s a limit to what make-up can achieve, after all.) I will also learn to say no. Very important, that one.

Lipstick is the only reason my life isn’t perfect. Clearly it’s because I haven’t found just the right shade that mold grow inside the storage space under the window seats and inside the fridge. (Mold makes for a very interesting biology lesson though.)

So, my quest continues… Watch this space.

Nathan Schoonraad 26/07/2005 – 30/07/2008

We are thinking of Carina, Richard and their boys with the anniversary of Nathan’s birth on 26 July (Sunday) and the anniversay of his death on 30 July.

Few of us knew Nathan personally, but he touched our lives in so many positive ways. We bow our heads in thankfulness for his life. The earth will never be the same, for someone of significance has left it.

In his memory, Carina and Richard are helping numerous children. It must take tons of courage and the kind of energy that they probably do not always feel they have. We want to thank them.

We will never forget.

Little boys…

Eat cake and fling the crumbs carelessly onder the bed.
Scatter the playing cards you’ve just picked up like leaves
Dig out the just-planted bulbs with generous handfuls of mud
Squeal gleefully and sit down in the mud.
Run away from you dressed in just a nappy in the middle of winter
Give slobbery kisses….to the dog.
Lick the underside of their shoes thoughtfully and then smack their lips.
Think farting is funny – anywhere, anytime.
Accuse their brothers, mothers or fathers of farting when, in fact, it was them.
Absolutely categorically deny that they have a stinky nappy.
Spray their brothers with underarm spray. In the face.
Pull loose mats from under their brothers.
Climb on kitchen counters to get to the pasta – which they devour uncooked.
Water the paving and then splash in the puddles. With their non-waterproof shoes on.
Cry about the little children who could not save their daddies when you tell the story of the Titanic.
Consider it a personal insult when you wipe their faces or noses.
Hide the cat with them under the covers.
Love starting fires.
Want to sit on your lap just as you start supper.
Want to chase each other on a bike when you want to sit down for some peace, quiet and a cuddle with them.
Cannot get enough of stories.
Chew carrots and spit them out on the carpet.
Only sleep when you need to be awake.
Never want to eat what you are cooking. Only what you made for lunch yesterday.
Develop hunger pangs an hour before lunch is ready.
Fight in the bath.
Wiggle your bum and sing jelly wobble, jelly wobble.
Want to debate something very serious just when you are getting ready to go out.
Refuse to wear a jersey or shoes.
Give the best kisses and hugs in the whole world.

Which is why we love little boys.

Daar's hy!


Pink clouds

I’m only able to cry when I read someone else’s words of missing. So, I sit and look at the computer screen and while I read another mother’s words I think: Thank you God for not putting us in the position where we had to choose to let him go. I’m reading this mother’s words. This mother who did choose to let go two years ago. And I’m not judging her. I’m just glad that I don’t have to bear that on top of everything else.

There are in fact times when I feel that all that has happened is just too much. I know that crying does not help. The grief goes too deep, too wide. So, I normally escape by not feeling. This time there is momentarily the relief of crying.


I pull my face into a smile. I grab hold of my emotions, pull them back sharply. And I turn and face my living son. The one who never knew his brother, but who points to the photos and squeals in delight.

“Baba! Babaaa!”

To him there is no difference between the three little boys in the photos.

He senses the emotions and looks unsure of himself for a moment, but he’s too young to understand. So I swing him up into my arms.

“Let’s go find the key. Will you help me?”

As I stand in the doorway, looking out over the garden filled with the last light, he points eagerly to the keys on the patio table just outside the door.

“Da. Da!”

I praise him and step outside to fetch the keys. There are pink clouds towards the west as the sun sets and I’m reminded of the first time I pointed out the pink clouds to Marco and saw Loren reacting. He knew clouds, he could see and he wanted to partake in their beauty. I still feel my heart fill with joy at the knowledge.

“Look at the pink clouds!” I exclaim and turn Magnus to face the west.

My blond son looks at me defiantly.

“Blech!” he says. His word for yucky.

I guess pink clouds are not everybody’s taste.

Time flies




26 April 2009 – 2 years